


Survival of the Fittest

by Fire_Bear



Series: Tumblr Requests [21]
Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Best Friends, Gore, Horror, M/M, Major Character Injury, Minor Character Death, Slasher Movie Type Thing, Thriller
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-31
Updated: 2016-12-31
Packaged: 2018-09-13 16:59:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,858
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9133129
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fire_Bear/pseuds/Fire_Bear
Summary: Alfred had only wanted to impress Arthur by going to the party which would likely be targeted by the local serial killer. Now he's hiding in a closet, watching his friends being killed one by one.





	1. In Trouble

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Zeplerfer](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zeplerfer/gifts), [aliesiar](https://archiveofourown.org/users/aliesiar/gifts).



> This is actually for a prompt from a different set of prompts...? I'm not sure where it came from but it's "I'm gonna be sick". 
> 
> Then I was asked for more and I provided. However, I couldn't decide how I wanted it to end so... The story is like this:  
> First chapter = original answer to prompt  
> Second chapter = continuation  
> Third chapter = 1st alternate ending (slotted into the end of the first chapter)  
> Fourth chapter = 2nd alternate ending. (slotted into the end of the second chapter)
> 
> (The second chapter will be the happier ending...)

Alfred wasn't entirely sure how he'd managed to get into this mess but he knew that, if he wanted to stand any chance of getting out of it, he would have to hold his breath. That was getting more difficult, the longer it took for the masked figure to finish mutilating Francis's body.

Okay, so he actually _did_ know how he'd gotten to this moment, hidden in the closet of his friend's room. There had been a serial killer attacking a variety of people in town, usually those who attended or held parties, for whatever deranged reason. Francis had decided that he'd host a party regardless, in defiance of the killer. Not that that had worked. In the middle of the night, when most people were drunk or high, the killer had undertaken his boldest move yet – he entered the house and began to kill people left and right. The party-goers had scattered and, when Alfred heard someone at the door of the room he had found himself in, he had hid in the closet, peering out as Francis hurried in, looking for an escape.

The hidden teenager had barely had time to register who it was before the killer had appeared and begun to stab Francis, over and over, ignoring the agonised screaming. Now, Alfred was standing with a hand over his mouth in an effort to stop himself puking as he watched the masked man slicing bits of skin from Francis's body.

Suddenly, he stopped. Alfred tensed. Would he be found? Was he the next in line?

Thankfully, the killer merely looked down at his handiwork before sweeping from the room. Alfred remained still – it could be a trap. He was beginning to wish he'd never come to the party. The only reason he had was because Arthur insisted it would be fine. If Alfred hadn't been hoping to impress the older boy, he'd have heeded the warnings of countless movies.

So, basically, this was all Arthur's fault.

God, he hoped Arthur was okay. He'd lost track of him at some point during the night. Would he be all right or was he already dead? Alfred fought back a sob. No. He couldn't be.

But how would he find out?

Well, there was only one way. Time to leave his hiding place. As quietly as possible, he pushed open the door and peered around it. Nobody in sight. He glanced around the room he had ended up in and was relieved to find that he was, in fact, in Francis's little brother's room. Matthew was a hockey nut and he was grateful to find makeshift weapons. Grabbing one of the hockey sticks, he tried his best not to look down; if he saw Francis's body close up, he may be sick.

Holding the stick in front of him, he crept to the open door. Peering around the door-frame, he saw no movement and ventured into the hallway. He almost tripped over something on the floor. Chancing a look down, he found Matthew's body, blood pooling around it. Gagging, he stumbled backwards and knocked into the wall. He froze, glancing around. Nothing untoward happened so he ventured onwards, not daring to look over the bannister in case he saw the killer – and the killer saw him.

He came to another door and paused before he looked in. Did he want to go in? Would the killer be there? Gulping, he raised his hockey stick and prepared to pounce. Leaping forwards, he turned to look in – and nearly cried out upon seeing Arthur standing there, gripping a whip, of all things. The smaller of the two froze and flinched; Alfred had to stumble back to avoid hitting his friend.

“Arthur,” he breathed.

“Al...” Arthur whispered. “Oh, thank God. I thought-! I'm so sor-”

“Shush!” Alfred hissed and, glancing around to make sure no-one was around, he grabbed Arthur's arm and dragged him back into the room. As quietly as possible, he closed the door behind him and turned back to Arthur. He paused, though, when he spotted something lying on the floor by the bed. There lay Michelle, mostly naked and lying twisted on the floor. Her insides had spilled out from the holes in her body. Alfred gaped at it and quickly clapped a hand over his mouth.

“I-I found her like that,” Arthur explained, hastily. “I s-swear...”

“I... I know,” Alfred mumbled through his hand. “Fuck. I'm gonna be sick.”

“You can't! He'll hear you.”

“I know, I know.” Alfred rolled his eyes. He took a deep breath and tore his eyes away from the body to stare at Arthur's 'weapon'. “Where the hell'd you get  _that_ ?”

“It was in the wardrobe – along with some other... things. It's the only thing here which can really be used as a weapon.”

“Right,” said Alfred. “We should... we should try to get out of here.”

“Wait,” Arthur protested as Alfred turned to the door. He paused and turned back to his friend. “L-Listen... if... Well. I'm sorry. I should have listened to you about coming here tonight. It was stupid. I just...”

“Look, it's fine,” said Alfred, placing a hand on Arthur's shoulder. “You couldn't know this would happen. The killer's MO's changed.”

Arthur chuckled. “You sound like a detective or something...” His amusement faded and he sniffed. “If we... If we get out of this, I can completely see you being a detective.”

“And, if I do become one, I'll catch this dude and we'll all be safe.”

Giving Alfred a weak smile, Arthur nodded. “We should...”

Alfred nodded but, instead of opening the door, he pulled Arthur into a hug. “Don't you worry, Artie. I'll keep you safe.”

Below his chin, Arthur snorted. “Ah, yes: the hero who's struggling not to throw up will keep me safe.”

“Shut up!” Arthur continued to laugh at him as Alfred huffily turned back to the door. Carefully, he turned the handle and, once he heard the soft click, he began to pull it open. Once he had it halfway open, he froze and stared. Behind him, Arthur gave a gasp and Alfred could feel him take a step backwards.

Standing in the doorway was the cloaked and masked killer, his knife dripping blood onto the carpet as it watched their reaction with an air of amusement.


	2. To Survive

They stared at each other for what felt like an eternity. Of course, it was really just mere seconds before any of them moved. Then, thinking of Arthur, Alfred held the hockey stick across his body like a shield and charged the killer. He slammed into him and whoever it was stumbled backwards. Alfred heard a clatter and didn't stop, still pushing forward, hoping the noise was the knife falling.

“Artie!” he shouted over his shoulder. “Run for it!”

“Wha-?”

“Just go!”

The man was now pushing back, slowing Alfred down. Grunting, Alfred kept it up, listening for footsteps. Finally, he heard them, almost breathing a sigh of relief. As they faded away, he heard Arthur call back. “I've taken his knife, Al! He's not got a weapon!”

Thankful for that, Alfred decided it was time to fell the guy. So he hooked his foot around the man's leg and pulled. Stumbling away from him, he watched the man flail, grunting as he tried to keep his balance. Then he fell backwards – and straight through the bannister. With a gasp, Alfred watched, wide-eyed, as he fell through the air, heading towards the foyer. He rushed forward and looked over the edge – just as he heard a scream.

Below him, Alfred could see Arthur, pressed back against the wall by the stairs, staring at the prone body now sprawled on the floor. Alfred watched as Arthur slowly raised his gaze to his. He looked so shocked and horrified that Alfred's hopes of getting Arthur to like him more were dashed.

“Shit,” he whispered.

Arthur stared, frozen, watching Alfred as he rushed down the stairs. Reaching his friend, he reached out to him and, surprisingly, instead of flinching, Arthur stepped into the hug, whip and knife falling to the floor. “You...” Arthur managed.

“Shit,” Alfred repeated.

The hug was over too soon as Arthur pulled away. “Is it over?” he asked, amazed.

Alfred gestured at the body, the shock hitting him all at once. Slightly hysterical, he exclaimed, “Artie, didn't you see what I did?! I doubt he survive-” His voice cracked. “I...”

“Hey!” snapped Arthur, poking Alfred in the chest. “You did it to protect- Well, you did it to... protect me...” Arthur trailed off, colour returned to his cheeks as he blushed lightly. “It was in self-defence. You didn't mean it.”

“Still...” Alfred could feel the tears in his eyes. “I mean, I _killed_ him. Like-”

His eyes widened slightly as Arthur reached up and wiped at his eyes. “Shush, shush. It's fine. Let's... Let's just get out of here. We can argue about this later.” A soft smile graced Arthur's features and Alfred found himself smiling back.

“Right, yeah, let's-” Alfred turned and froze, gaping at the floor. The killer's body had vanished. “Shit. Shit, shit,  _shit_ ! Where'd he go?”

He felt Arthur clutching at his sleeve. “What do we do?!” hissed the Brit, his peace of a few moments ago completely shattered.

“We... get the hell outta Dodge,” Alfred said, looking around and trying to ignore the bodies strewn across the floor, people who had been enjoying life only an hour ago.

“All right,” Arthur replied. He stepped forward, towards the front door but Alfred grabbed his arm.

“Not that way! And grab your weapons.”

Arthur studied Alfred's face before nodding. “ _Weapon_ ,” Arthur corrected him as he crouched down and picked up the knife. 

That was probably what saved his life. Out of nowhere, another knife flew through the air and embedded itself in the wall where Arthur's neck had been a moment before. It stole Alfred's breath as he realised the implications and turned to where it had appeared from. There stood the killer, standing in the doorway to the kitchen, his broken mask barely hanging onto his face. Beside him, Arthur slowly straightened, gaping.

Finally, Alfred found his voice. “R-Run!” he cried and, grabbing Arthur's arm and tugging him back up the stairs. The clatter of footsteps followed them.

Instead of ducking into the first room as he did earlier, Alfred pulled Arthur past the ones they had been in and headed for the master bedroom. It was at the front of the house so they had to be in the open for longer as they circled the landing. The killer threw two more knives at them. One stuck in the bannister and Arthur barely managed to duck another one.

They reached their destination and both of them turned to close the door. As they did, they both witnessed the man's mask falling, revealing a familiar face. Gasping, Alfred flicked the lock and then held it closed. “Quick!” he exclaimed. Get something to block the door!”

Already ahead of him, Arthur was pushing the heavy chest of drawers in front of the door. “Was that Sadik?!” he hissed at Alfred.

“Dude, it looked like it! What the hell?!”

“God, I always knew he was a strange one. I didn't think he'd do this!”

“Oh, fuck. Do you remember that time he punched Herakles just for talking to him?”

“To be fair, Herakles did the same to him,” Arthur pointed out.

“Why the fuck-?”

The door rattled as if someone had ran at it. Seeing the chest of drawers wobble, Arthur turned to Alfred with wide eyes. “Never mind the whys and wherefores. What do we do now?!”

“Uh,” said Alfred, glancing at the window. “There's really only one way out...”

Arthur stiffened. “No. No way. We're a floor up! We'll end up with broken-”

“Calm down,” Alfred told him as he hurried over. Opening it with a rather loud slam, Alfred winced and looked down. “Yeah, look. The entrance juts out a bit. We can drop to that roof and then get out-” Alfred broke off as another bang came from the door. A splintering noise carried to the duo and they both winced: it seemed Sadik was stronger than they'd given him credit for.

Keeping quiet, Alfred gestured to the open window. Grimacing, Arthur reluctantly climbed through it, Alfred keeping a steadying hand on the small of his back. Once he was out, he slid down the sloped roof a little and turned to make sure Alfred was following. With another bang and the movement of the chest of drawers, Alfred quickly did so, sliding down to meet him.

“Right,” he said to Arthur, keeping his voice low and thinking fast. If Sadik worked out what they were doing, he might come back down the stairs and block them off. He couldn't let Arthur go down first. “I'll drop off first, okay?” he told his friend, giving him a stern look to prevent his protests. “Once the coast's clear, I'll call up to you.”

“Okay.”

Nodding to himself, Alfred turned himself around and shuffled backwards. Once he'd gotten to the edge, he lowered himself to lie flat then swung his legs out. He slid down the slope more until he clung at the gutter. Then, after hanging for a moment and bracing himself, he dropped down, landing in a crouch. Sighing in relief, he glanced around and saw no-one. Thankful that things were going well now, he backed off a little to be able to see the edge of the roof.

“Artie! C'mon, I'll catch you!”

“Ri-” he heard Arthur begin to call back but it was cut off with a gasp.

Freezing, Alfred stared up, trying to see what was going on despite the awkward angle. “A-Artie?”

“St-Stay back, Sadik!” he heard Arthur cry. Shit. The guy had gotten through the door and must be on the roof! Alfred began to panic, wondering what he could do. Above him, Arthur began to plead for his life. “ _Please_ ! I-I've never done anything to you! Why-Why would you-?”

Everything went quiet and Alfred found himself staring upwards, shuffling to and fro. “Artie!” he shouted, willing back his tears. Why had he gone quiet? Was Sadik responding, too quiet for Alfred to hear?

All of a sudden, something large and heavy fell from the roof. Alfred barely had time to brace himself before someone fell on top of him, tumbling to the ground himself. They were breathing heavily, panting. Something wet was soaking through Alfred's shirt. Quickly, he sat up and gave a cry: Arthur looked back at him with a pained expression. Blood was pouring from his stomach, through fingers that clutched at the wound.

“No! No, no, no!” Alfred laid Arthur down carefully, instantly pressing down on the wound. “Shit, Artie. Stay with me.”

“I... Idiot,” Arthur choked. “Get away. Go. Leave me. He's-”

There was a thud behind Alfred. He froze. Slowly, he turned his head and looked over his shoulder. Sadik stood there, two knives in his hands. If he left he would save himself – but  _only_ himself. He couldn't abandon Arthur. Sadik smiled at him, understanding his predicament. Alfred watched Sadik step forward and raise one of the knives.

A sudden crack echoed through the air. Sadik's eyes widened. Alfred watched as, almost in slow motion, Sadik looked down at a blooming bloodstain in his chest. Then, just as slowly, he collapsed.

Looking around, Alfred found Gilbert Beilschmidt, next-door neighbour and police officer, gun in hand, furious expression on his face. Behind him were the flashing lights of the police and ambulances. Alfred cried out, the danger forgotten in favour of Arthur's predicament. He glanced down. Arthur stared up at him, panting harshly, a determined expression on his face.

Alfred hoped that would mean Arthur would be fine, that he'd stubbornly fight till he had recovered.


	3. Killer

Grabbing one of the hockey sticks in Matthew's room, Alfred tried his best not to look down; if he saw Francis's body close up, he may be sick.

Holding the stick in front of him, he crept to the open door. Peering around the door-frame, he saw no movement and ventured into the hallway. He almost tripped over something on the floor. Chancing a look down, he found Matthew's body, blood pooling around it. Gagging, he stumbled backwards and knocked into the wall. He froze, glancing around. Nothing untoward happened so he ventured onwards, not daring to look over the bannister in case he saw the killer – and the killer saw him.

He came to another door and paused before he looked in. Did he want to go in? Would the killer be there? Gulping, he raised his hockey stick and prepared to pounce. Leaping forwards, he turned to look in – and nearly cried out upon seeing Arthur standing there, gripping a whip, of all things. The smaller of the two froze and flinched, stepping backwards hurriedly; Alfred had to stumble back to avoid hitting his friend.

“Arthur,” he breathed.

“Al...” Arthur whispered, a relieved expression flitting onto his face. “Oh, thank God. I thought I was the only one still alive! I'm sorry – if I had known-”

“Shush!” Alfred hissed and, glancing around to make sure no-one was around, he grabbed Arthur's arm and dragged him back into the room. As quietly as possible, he closed the door behind him and turned back to Arthur. He paused, though, when he spotted something lying on the floor by the bed. There lay Michelle, mostly naked and lying twisted on the floor. Her insides had spilled out from the holes in her body. Alfred gaped at it and quickly clapped a hand over his mouth.

“I found her like that,” Arthur explained, hastily. “I swear...”

“I... I know,” Alfred mumbled through his hand. “Fuck. I'm gonna be sick.”

“You can't be sick _now_!”

“I know, I know.” Alfred rolled his eyes. He took a deep breath and tore his eyes away from the body to stare at Arthur's 'weapon'. “Where the hell'd you get  _that_ ?”

“It was in the wardrobe – along with some other... things. It's the only thing here which can really be used as a weapon.”

“Right,” said Alfred, looking around. “We should... we should try to get out... of... here...” Alfred trailed off as he spotted something sticking out from behind the bed. It was a familiar dark green and, slowly, he wandered over and crouched down. Tugging at the cloth, he discovered a set of dark green robes. As he moved them, the green mask which accompanied it tumbled out from the pile.

The last time Alfred had seen this combination had been on the killer as he stabbed Francis to death. But the only way it could be in here was if...

A sudden tug on his hair made his head fall back to reveal his neck. Something sharp rested against the vulnerable flesh, nipping at his skin. His wide eyes met Arthur's fiery green ones. “W-Wha-?”

“Sorry, Al,” Arthur sighed. “You should have stayed home.”

Alfred couldn't find the words to respond – not that he was able to speak as Arthur calmly slit his throat.


	4. Two Kill

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Basically, I wanted a reason for Sadik to be wandering around killing people and this happened...)

“Artie! C'mon, I'll catch you!”

“Ri-” he heard Arthur begin to call back but it was cut off with a gasp.

Freezing, Alfred stared up, trying to see what was going on despite the awkward angle. “A-Artie?”

“St-Stay back, Sadik!” he heard Arthur cry. Shit. The guy had gotten through the door and must be on the roof! Alfred began to panic, wondering what he could do. Above him, Arthur began to plead for his life. “ _Please_! I-I've never done anything to you! Why-Why would you-?”

Everything went quiet and Alfred found himself staring upwards, shuffling to and fro. “Artie!” he shouted, willing back his tears. Why had he gone quiet? Was Sadik responding, too quiet for Alfred to hear?

All of a sudden, something large and heavy fell from the roof. Alfred barely had time to brace himself before someone fell on top of him, tumbling to the ground himself. They were breathing heavily, panting. Something wet was soaking through Alfred's shirt. Quickly, he sat up and gave a cry: Arthur looked back at him with a pained expression. Blood was pouring from his stomach, through fingers that clutched at the wound.

“No! No, no, no!” Alfred laid Arthur down carefully, instantly pressing down on the wound. “Shit, Artie. Stay with me.”

“I... Idiot,” Arthur choked. “Get away. Go. Leave me. He's-”

There was a thud behind Alfred. He froze. Slowly, he turned his head and looked over his shoulder. Sadik stood there, a knife in one hand and his other clutching at his side. It looked as though Arthur had got in a glancing blow during their fight. Alfred looked between them – maybe he could get Sadik to stop and get them to a hospital.

“Step aside, Al,” Sadik growled, glaring past him at Arthur.

“What?” he asked, confused. Surely Sadik should just kill him and be done with it?

“I didn't want to do this.” Sadik gestured at the house before wincing and returning his hand to his wound. “I knew someone in our class killed Herakles. So I came here seeking retribution. I figured whoever it was would be sick enough to let me know before I killed them. And the person who killed him is right there.” The killer pointed the knife at Arthur and Alfred's face twisted as he tried to frown and look astonished at the same time.

“Don't-” Arthur coughed wetly as Alfred looked down at him. “Don't listen to him, Al. He's... He's obviously crazy. Who-Who goes after a killer by _killing_... everyone else?”

“You bastard!” snarled Sadik. “Get outta the way, Jones, or I'll kill you, too!”

Unsure who to believe, Alfred shook his head. “N-No, c'mon, man-” He broke off as Sadik growled at him. Literally growled. Scared, Alfred shifted to protect his friend, throwing his arms wide. Sadik's eyes narrowed but he lifted his knife.

A crack echoed around them and Alfred watched as a the red stain blossomed across Sadik's robes from the wound in his chest. Slowly, Sadik crumpled and finally lay still. Spinning on his knees, Alfred gazed up at their saviour: Gilbert Beilschmidt, next-door neighbour and one of the local cops. The officer looked furious even as he turned his attention to the injured Arthur.

“Arthur Kirkland,” he announced. “I'm arresting you for the murders of Herakles Karpusi, Feliciano and Lovino Vargas, Im Yong Soo and Antonio Fernandez Carriedo.”

“W-What?!” Alfred exclaimed. “What? No. You've gotta- There's gotta be a mistake! Right?” He looked down to see Arthur weakly shaking his head.

“You're wrong,” he said, panting with the effort. “But, whether you're... right or not... dear Officer Beilschmidt... I'm afraid you're a little... too late... to arrest me...”

“Like Hell I am.”

“No... You see... If you think that... then what's the point... of...” Arthur gave a last cough and then fell silent. Beside him, Alfred stared down in shock, unable to accept the evidence before him. Arthur just couldn't be dead...


End file.
